BEG 1 Read online

  I’m so tired by this time that I almost groan with relief when Vic points me to a chair and helps me into it.

  “Shaw dear, would you like some tea and biscuits?”

  My stomach growls so loudly I hear it echo through the room, and I blush when they all stop and stare at me, their eyes widening.

  “Cameron! Please tell me you fed the girl at some point before or during the flight over here!” Mrs. Stone barks, whipping around to look at her son.

  The oaf has the grace to blush before turning to look at me with a stony expression.

  “That’s okay. Mrs. Stone. I wasn’t really all that hungry. It would have been wasted on me because I would have just hurled anyway.” I hurry to say, avoiding his eyes and smiling at her.

  “Margery, dear. Call me Margery.”

  She smiles back and relaxes before serving me a cup of tea and offering me a biscuit.

  “Could you tell us how you and Rob met?”

  I almost choke on my tea and splutter through a cough when all eyes turn to me curiously.

  “Er, well, I was at this club, and he kind of just swept me off my feet.”

  I don’t have the heart to tell her that her son was a hound dog, trolling for easy sex, and besides, by the end of the night, that had been true. He’d swept me off my feet and wooed my hymen right out of me.

  “Aaah, that was my Robbie. Such a free spirit.”

  Cameron snorts and goes back to staring into his glass, and I have the rare opportunity to study him without risking his anger. He’s really quite good looking, in a brooding, stodgy way.

  He’s not golden or charming like Robert had been, but neither is he unattractive. He’s actually quite sexy in a prim way, and that just pisses me off.

  “Yeah. He was free alright.”

  Free enough to get the goods and get packing.

  “So dear, we wanted to discuss your plans for the future. As you well know, our dear Robbie is no longer with us.”

  I wince and try to look sympathetic when she sniffs and wipes at her eyes with a choked sob.

  “Er, yeah. I am so sorry for your loss.”

  Awkward!

  “Ahem, like I was saying, we would like to know what you have planned. Vic and I would ideally like for you to stay on here with us so that we can be a part of the baby’s life and well…having you an ocean away is really…would you maybe consider staying?”

  Oh flapjacks!

  No! I want to yell and jump up and run back home, even if it means begging Gloria to let me come home, but she looks so sad I can’t stand it.

  “Er, well, it’s just that I have to start applying for internships again, and if any of the places I apply to accept me…um, I’ll have to go wherever that is and—”

  “Oh for God’s sake. We all know you were booted from your last placement so don’t pretend—”

  “I lost the best internship in the state because I puked all over one of the new exhibits! Because I’m pregnant! I didn’t lose my job because I couldn’t do it or because I didn’t want to work!” I yell, losing my temper at the insult.

  I’d worked my ass of for that job—only to lose it because the guy who’d popped my lock hadn’t made sure to check his condom.

  I can literally hear crickets chirping when I finally stop hyperventilating enough to see their faces. Vic is smirking, Margery is scowling holes into her son, and Cameron is looking at me like he wants to throttle me.

  Great intro Shaw. What’s next? Drinking out of the milk carton and scratching your ass in company?

  Chapter Five

  Shaw

  Three months is a long time to be living in a foreign country with people you don’t know. And yet it’s the blink of an eye, too. I’ve spent my time going to doctor’s appointments to stop my nausea, something common to the Stone females Margery says, and spending time with her.

  I love Marge, and I’d stay here forever if I could, and I’m not too proud to admit it. Everything is so easy. I’m finally at a place where I’ve gained a good amount of the weight that the doctor said I needed to put back on without counting the weight the baby would put on.

  And I’ve gotten so much rest that when I’d looked in the mirror this morning, I’d almost looked behind me to make sure it was me staring back.

  If nothing else, one good thing has come from this pregnancy. I’ve turned into a total hottie.

  Unfortunately, since Marge insists that I nap in the afternoon, I often find myself wandering around at night. Reading, looking at the gardens, or more likely than not, raiding the refrigerator.

  “You’re supposed to eat those with tea, not orange juice.” A voice drawls from the door, and I spit out a mouthful of chocolate cookies and orange juice, as a bare-chested Cameron saunters into the room, his lower half covered in a pair of loose workout shorts.

  Sweet mama. Who knew the man was concealing a deadly weapon, and by that, I mean his body is ripped and so smoking hot I feel like dying from a heat wave.

  “You’ve got…”

  He saunters over and gingerly swipes a thumb over my chin to remove the remnants of my coughing fit.

  When he shoves that thumb into his mouth and sucks off my crumbs, I’m this close to swooning. Or checking his eyes for drug use or a body snatcher.

  The only times I’d seen him in the last three months, or been near enough to feel his dislike, has been those rare occasions when he’s not away on business or isn’t staying over at his London apartment.

  This guy…is so not the same guy who has been insulting me at every turn, and it makes me feel…unsure.

  It’s like when you’re watching a scary movie and you psyche yourself up for the next big scare and then the credits roll and you relax, only for that scary face to pop up at the last minute and totally make you brown your trousers.

  That’s how I feel, like I want to relax and see where he’s going with this, but I’m tensed for the next whammy of truly horrible comments.

  His eyes are lighter, and yet they’re holding an emotion I can’t quite place, but I don’t want to place it or know what’s going on with him. I want to sit here in the dark with only the microwave for lighting and enjoy the peace and my midnight snack.

  He joins me though and sits quietly for a minute, his eyes scanning every inch of my body—as if he’s only now seeing me.

  “You’re looking much better than you did when I first saw you.”

  “Yeah. The pills the doctor gave me took care of the worst of the sickness, and then your mom’s been tube feeding me so I’ve gained back almost everything I lost.”

  And maybe your long absences.

  He laughs, steals a cookie to go with the milk I didn’t even see him pour, and eats silently, never taking his eyes from me. It’s disconcerting and yet strangely comfortable to have him here and not have to constantly hide my face and try to pretend I don’t exist.

  I’m so used to doing it with Mom that it’s no biggie, but now that I don’t feel under attack, and I get to really see him, I’m a little scared. This man, the quiet guy who seems to be seeing right into me, is attractive—and nothing like his lying, charming brother.

  And I wish I’d met him in that bar all those months ago because, if nothing else, he would have been upfront and honest, and he would have broken things off neatly instead of just skipping out on me.

  “My brother must have seen something in you.”

  I snort and close my eyes in disappointment and gear up for the inevitable set down.

  “Sure. That would have been my gullibility—and maybe my V card. Never met a guy who would pass that up.”

  That gets his attention, and I blush and silently curse myself for letting that slip.

  “You were untouched? And he just—?”

  “Hit it and quit it? Yup. But not after making me feel like—”

  I stop talking and shake my head. I don’t want him to know how vulnerable I am, or how much it hurt to have believed one thing while Robert had been p
laying another game.

  And I definitely don’t want to talk about things that will, in any way, insult the exalted golden boy. Cameron just does not react well to that, and I’m too tired to put up shields against his cutting tongue.

  “Making you feel like…?”

  “I don’t want to talk about this if you don’t mind,” I say, crumbling a cookie onto the plate and looking away.

  “Why?”

  “Because you won’t believe anything I say anyway, and while I’m dumb enough to have gotten myself in this situation, I am still smart enough to know when I’m in over my head. Besides, what do you care? You still think I’m the lying cheat who’s trying to fleece your sweet mother.”

  I rise and waddle to the door, very conscious of his dark eyes following my ever movement.

  “Shaw.”

  “What?”

  “For your sake, I really hope you’re telling the truth. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “Yeah. It’s no biggie. I’ve been hurt my whole life. What’s one more?”

  Chapter Six

  Cam

  It’s hell watching Shaw and Mum chatter together constantly while all I have for company is Dad and his disinterested huffs every once in a while…when he can bare to drag his attention away from the sports pages.

  It’s hell because I’ve been dying to talk to her since that night in the kitchen, but the bloody woman scampers off and avoids me at every turn. She wants nothing to do with me, and who can blame her.

  I can’t, because while I’m curious about what she’d been about to say, I can’t promise that my intentions are good. I still won’t entertain the thought that the child in her belly is Rob’s, not until I have irrefutable proof.

  But that doesn’t stop me from noticing her seductively swollen body, and the way her face has filled out from that gaunt, haunted pallor to a nicely curved, rosy cream.

  And then I haven’t even begun on the list of things my cock has perked up and noticed. Like the way her tongue peeks out and worries at the top corner of her lip when she smiles or laughs. I’ve never wanted to taste a tongue so badly in my life, but the thought of sucking that pink muscle into my mouth and letting her take mine in turn makes me so hard I’ve spent whole nights jumping between tossing and turning and ice cold showers.

  It’s sick, I know, but there is just something about her swollen body that has captivated me, and I can’t bloody stop. After having that small taste of her in the kitchen, I’d been so hard I couldn’t stand up to stop her from leaving, and then after an hour’s worth of pacing, I’d given into temptation and stroked myself to one of the best releases I’d ever had.

  The need to touch her and taste every inch of her delicate skin has become an obsession that I hate. An obsession I’m starting to hate her for. It’s wrong and unfair, but I can’t help it.

  She’s done something to me; she must have.

  “What do you think, Cameron?”

  I look up from my plate and focus on them, only catching a glimpse of Shaw from the corner of my eye.

  “I was telling Shaw that we should accept that invitation to the Larson’s garden party. Molly sent it over today, and I think it’s a fabulous way to introduce Ducky to everyone.”

  I finally allow myself to look at her fully, and her captivating eyes are trained on me, a plea I don’t think she’s aware of blazing in their depths.

  She obviously doesn’t want to go and doesn’t have the heart to refuse Mum but too bloody bad. If she wants to be a part of this world, she has to grow up and face everything that is thrown at her.

  “I think that’s a brilliant idea, Mum.”

  Her shoulders sag, and I restrain the urge to laugh when she looks back up at me with a bland expression I’m starting to resent. It’s as if she doesn’t see me, something I would have appreciated months ago but despise now.

  It’s immature and obnoxious, but I want her to see me—even if it’s only to acknowledge the barbs I throw at her.

  “She’ll fit right in with Molly since they’re both on the larger side and not very sophisticated.”

  “Cameron! You apologize to Ducky right now young man!”

  “Sorry Mum, but my bullshit quota is quite full for the day. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do if I’m going to be expected to raise my dead brother’s child. If it’s his, that is.”

  I hear her gasp and the sound of Dad blustering at me, but I keep walking, determined not to show the shame blazing on my cheeks.

  ***

  Shaw

  As the acrid taste of embarrassment and a not so little amount of outrage fill my mouth, I can do nothing but sit quietly and surreptitiously wipe at the tears spilling from my eyes.

  The barb has hit its mark. Very accurately, and I look down at myself and take in the spread of my thighs and the huge barrel that is my stomach. It’s so easy to see myself in a bad light right now, especially with the way Mom used to put me down about everything, but I refuse.

  I’ve worked hard to get myself back to a healthy size—okay so maybe it’s not hard to eat every sweet treat my eyes encounter, but you know what I mean—and I absolutely refuse to let Cameron Bloody Stone make me feel shitty about doing what’s right for my baby.

  I’m not crying for the insult, I’m crying because I’m right back in that horror movie, only this time I wasn’t prepared. The kitchen incident had seriously messed with my mojo.

  Now I’ll have to start all over again and learn to show him the ‘I don’t give a lump’ side of myself.

  “Ducky, dear…”

  “Don’t worry about it, Marge. I’m pretty used to people saying shitty things because they’re shitty people. I promise I won’t go into depression over one silly comment. Now tell me about this Molly. I might as well get to know her if I’m going to be parking my ‘fat ass’ with hers all day,” I muse, giving them both a mischievous grin.

  Rule number one: Deflect attention if you want to survive.

  “That’s the spirit, Ducky!” Vic bellows, his blue eyes twinkling back at me. “Now have you seen the latest editions of Antiques and Oddities?”

  I shake my head and allow him to dazzle me with his next project in the titillating world of antiques hunting and buying and totally let go of Cameron’s insults.

  Too bad he can’t be a nice person. With his looks and a better personality, I’d bet an organ he’d be as attractive, if not more than, his sleazy brother ever was.

  “Victor darling, that’s quite enough of that for now if you please. Ducky and I need to discuss the garden soiree, and we need to start planning ensembles.”

  Oh no. I hate it when Marge goes all designer duds on me. Every time she buys me something new, Cameron spots it and smirks sardonically at me as if to say ‘See, I knew you were all about the money.’ I half expect to wake up one night with the lunatic trying to collect ‘samples’ from me like some version of the crazy Dr. Frankenstein.

  “Uh Marge, could you maybe not go on an all-out spree this time? I have so many things in that room you guys call a closet that I’ll never get through them all before sprout makes an appearance. Can’t I just wear that nice purple thing you got me last week? It doesn’t make me look like a cow dressed in Clingfilm.”

  Seriously, everything she gets me is “fitted” and by that I mean I’m covered fully, but everything is on display with the tight fit. Now I don’t know about other pregnant women, but having my ass and belly all out and proud while still trying to keep my two girls out of your face is not my idea of a confidence-boosting outfit.

  “But Ducky, I saw this amazing baby blue St. Laurent yesterday, and the shop girl said they can resize it for your petite figure.”

  “Er, firstly, though I adore you for saying it, there’s nothing petite about my behind. No, don’t start. I was a chub before I got pregnant, and I’ll be the same after. I like food and being alive more than I like looking good for the meatheads that are today’s modern man.”

  “But
Ducky—”

  “Aaand secondly, I don’t want another dress. Please? I’m not really into the whole fashion thing, and it makes me feel like an imposter when I wear something I can’t even pronounce the name of.”

  And I don’t want Victor Von Doom having anything else to say about me, I add silently.

  “Oh alright. So let’s talk about this event, and then you should retire early. You’re looking pale to me.”

  Twenty minutes later I’m showered, dressed in a long silk nightgown and in bed. Sleepless. With a huff, I reach over and flick on the light to get at the phone next to the bed, my hands shaking as I lift the handset from the cradle and punch in the numbers I’ve been avoiding for months.

  “Hello?”

  The voice is achingly familiar and sleep roughened, and it makes me long so much my eyes water and I have to stifle a hiccup of a sob.

  “Alec?”

  “Shawsie? Is that you, honey?”

  “Yeah. It’s me.” I whisper, smiling when I hear a rustle and a feminine groan that tells me my brother is not the angel I keep telling myself he is. “You busy? I can call you back.”

  “Naw, just a one and done babe, and she’s out like a light after I finished her off.”

  “Gross Al, just gross,” I mutter with a smile that he hears and makes him chuckle softly.

  “Talk to me, babe. I haven’t heard from you in three months and that tomb we gestated in together is worse than useless when it comes to answering her phone.”

  I crack up at the usual reference to Gloria’s womb and spend a minute collecting myself before taking a deep breath and plunging ahead.

  “I got into some trouble, Al. I lost the internship and my apartment and I had to move in with the zombie eater.”

  There’s more rustling on the other end, and then I hear a door close and what sounds like the refrigerator opening and closing before he answers.

  “Where are you? I’ll come and get you.”

  And this is why I’ve let myself be humbled. This is why I’d elected to move an ocean away. My brother is one mean-assed football playing law graduate, and he also happens to be my fiercest protector.